Forward Unto Victory
by HeirOfRohan
Summary: Victory comes at a price. What price must we pay in order to triumph? Freedom? Liberty? Our very lives? Join Commander Johnathan Smith Reynolds as he fights his way to victory on the side of the Allies and watch as he overcomes the obstacles that dare stand in his way. And also find love along the way. OC-centric, OCXEva Rated M to be safe.
1. Chapter One New Appointment

**Disclaimer: I don't own Red Alert 3 or any other things from EA. I only own the OC characters that I will be putting in the story.**

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0300 hours

Allied Command Headquarters, London

Sitting in a leather chair in front of a beautifully and antiquely carved wooden office desk was a man in his late 50s going over a number of reports attached to a clipboard. He scanned the papers with practiced ease honed from years of experience as a field commander and as a commanding officer for the Allied war effort. He was wearing a deep blue officer's uniform with an Allied bird of prey emblem emblazoned on both his lapels. The only indication that this man was of high rank was his multiple military decorations, which was emblazoned on his left chest and of course the multiple silver stars on his shoulder. With his slightly balding head, along with a straight expression that bordered on emotionless, a well-built frame, and almond colored eyes that held an air of wisdom and authority in them, none would be surprised that this man was of general rank or higher.

Indeed, this man; this Englishman was none other than the Allies most senior commander: Field Marshal Robert Bingham, OBE, and Chief of the Allied Military.

He was no fool. In just a matter of hours, the Soviets would make landfall on Brighton Beach and there's little to nothing that he could do to stop it at the moment. If Brighton were to fall, then the Reds' superior numbers and firepower would overwhelm all of Britain, and in turn, all of Europe would fall into the hands of the Red Menace. He most certainly cannot let that happen.

These past few months since the start of the Great World War III had been hectic for the Allies, especially for Bingham as he tirelessly worked countless hours at trying to stem the Soviet onslaught, but to no avail as the Soviets overran Germany and Italy in a matter of weeks; followed by the rest of Western Europe in the ensuing months. Most of the senior Allied commanders are either captured or assassinated during the early stages of the war, which left Bingham the only surviving senior ranking Allied officer fit to take command, and now…

Now they were fighting a losing battle against the Reds. Inch by bloody inch, mile by bloody mile, they were giving the Soviets everything they've got, making the Soviets pay a high price for every yard they gained. But it was not enough as Soviet manpower outwitted the Allies' own. But the most distressing news of all, was that a lot of experienced and veteran commanders are either dead or tied down fighting on multiple fronts, most notably the North Sea and the Netherlands.

In short, the Allies were losing, fast. If something wasn't done soon, the Allies would definitely lose the war. And Communism wins.

Setting down the clipboard, he rubbed his hands together and ran his hands over his wrinkled face and leaned back on his chair. The reports he just skimmed was an active duty roster of fresh commanders from the United States, who had officially joined the war effort following the inauguration of its new president, Howard T. Ackerman. A jolly and energetic fellow, as Bingham would put it, always full of zeal and willing to do just about anything to drive the 'godless Reds' as the president would put it back into Russia. (If not off the earth altogether)

_Good_, the Field Marshal thought, more meat for the grinder. They were losing officers everyday just by holding the Russians at bay. The more officers they could conjure up and hauled over to the front, the better. Plus the added manpower and industrial capacity of the US would be invaluable to the war effort for the Allies…

He paused in his thoughts, and blinked once, then again. Like a shot, he leaned forward and picked up the clipboard again and flipped through several pages before settling on the last one. Bingham's mind kept coming back to this particular page, or person, after he read it because there was something about the statistics and tests that seemed off to the aged commander.

The name of said person: Johnathan Smith Reynolds.

Bingham mused about this particular commander. According to his profile, he was born into an underprivileged family in Brooklyn, New York. He attended the Virginia Military Institute in Lexington when he came of age using his own savings that he kept since young. He was then transferred to West Point at the age of 15 when the instructors at VMI found out that his skills and mental prowess surpass even their best instructors, and was considered a genius among the trainees.

Upon transferring to West Point, he quickly climbed up the ranks of the Academy and became the top of his class by the age of 17; the youngest commissioned officer to graduate from the esteemed military academy in the past 20 years. When he graduated, most of his graduating class, even his instructors at the Academy were expecting him to apply for a front line posting or getting a transfer to other Allied divisions all over Europe. With his impressive resume, most military postings around the world would accept him into their ranks, no questions asked.

Indeed, no one had ever seen an officer in the likes of Johnathan for a long time now. Described by his instructors as a calm, methodical and calculating man, Johnathan was often praised for his tactical prowess and strategic ingenuity while on the battlefield. He bested almost all of the instructors during mock battles and simulations which would have caught other officers in a bind.

When off duty, he's described as having a laid-back, straight-to-the-point-no-bullshitting-me, cheerful and sociable personality which earned him several points in the other officer's books as he even tried to get along with the other trainees who were a year or two below his class. Another trait they praised him for: humility. He never once boasted about his successes but instead encourages others to be better than him. He even helped out several of his classmates who weren't quite getting it. They all respected him a great deal.

So, imagine everyone's shock when he requested to be transferred to a small supply depot in Brooklyn as a desk jockey attached to the US Third Supply Battalion.

Bingham closed his eyes and smiled. Humility at its best. Instead of asking for a combat transfer, this man opted for a more modest job as a desk jockey which most soldiers loathe. He hadn't even met the young man in person yet, but he already had respect for the young commander. It was then he made his decision.

He turned in his chair to face his desktop and began typing away at the keyboards. The light tapping of the plastic keyboard could be heard echoing throughout the spacy office room. After a few minutes, he tapped enter. He leaned back on his chair and decided to take a small breather. Tomorrow was going to be one hell of a stressful day and he was going to need all the rest he can get. After all, the fate of the Free World is hanging in the balance. He hoped his decision he made was the right one for the Allies.

On the desktop screen, in a blue themed background with an Allied bird of prey as the backdrop, was an encoded Allied email, with its large, bolded titles, **'TRANSFER LIST'**. Attached to it was a short email intended for someone named Eva, it read:

_Have the name lists finalized and put into use by tomorrow._

_Oh, and Lieutenant…_

_Have Captain Johnathan Smith Reynolds report directly to me by 0800 hours. I've got something in mind that could help us turn the tide against the Reds…and him the key to it all._

_Bingham_

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0400 hours

Somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean

A young man in his mid-20s was pulling on his navy patterned battle dress uniform after receiving the order to deploy along with the rest of his company from Allied Command just moments before. And the young man couldn't help but think why Command would abruptly order him to deploy at this ungodly hour.

He was easily six foot in height and possessed an athletic build worthy of a soldier. He filled out his BDU quite well and easily stood out among his comrades, with the kind of stance and posture that easily singled him out as a non-pushover. He has short black hair that was clean-cut and what seems to be facial hair on his chin and lower jaw, which he kept, trimmed smartly. He also had dark blue eyes that radiated warmth and wisdom and in some cases, mischief. He was the perfect personification of a career soldier and officer that every man and woman dreamt of. But the best quality he had about him was his humility which bordered on self-insult. I mean seriously, when the guy was given credit, he promptly disowned it, like it was poison to him.

The sound of his communicator beeping from across his room had him snapped to attention as he quickly bounded over to the communication device before pressing the receive button, allowing the person who called him to talk.

"Captain Reynolds?" the melodic female voice asked.

"Aye," he replied as he pulled on his tie.

"Lieutenant Eva Mckenna, Allied Logistics and Intelligence," the woman said introducing herself. She couldn't be older than 25, judging by her voice. John was a keen observer after all. He could spot things that no normal person could.

"Pleasure speaking with you ma'am, what's the situation?"

A slight ruffling of papers was heard before Eva spoke, "You and your company are being reassigned." John raised a surprised eyebrow at that. _That_ was unexpected.

"Okay," John said uneasily, "To where if I may ask?"

"I was getting to that. You're being reassigned to London. Be there by 0800 hours. The Field Marshal will be expecting you." She finished.

John raised another surprised eyebrow. He was reporting directly to the Field Marshal. The big man of the Allies. Thing must be important if the Supreme Commander himself was seeing him. He ran his hands over his face and sighed.

"Alright, I'll inform my men."

"Thank you. That is all." Eva said as she cut off the line.

After a while, he punched in the codes on his communicator that connected him to his platoon leaders. He waited a moment until all his subordinates were ready and up before speaking. "Alright. All teams report in."

"Staff Sergeant Rupert Sanborn, First Platoon," called in the first voice.

"Staff Sergeant Richard Stanley, Second Platoon, ready and able sir!" called in a young, enthusiastic second voice.

"Staff Sergeant Matthew Thompson, Third Platoon." Another more subdued voice said.

"Gunnery Sergeant William James, Support Platoon," called in the last voice.

"All right, I'll go straight to the point. Second Company of the Fifth Supply Battalion is being redeployed to London. This came in from the top, is that understood?" He received a chorus of 'Yes sir's, no questions asked. He smiled. He knew all of his men from the normal grunts to their commanding officers and he knew he could trust them with his life, as they could trust their lives with his.

"That's all for now. Now get some shuteye. You'll need it for tomorrow."

"Thank you sir"

Once that was over and done with, he opened his cabin door and stepped out into the plane's narrow corridors. He slowly made his way up to the cockpit and when he got there, he greeted the pilots before taking a seat on a spare chair at the back of the small cockpit. He really liked it up here in the cockpit; it makes him feel calm and collected watching the endless expanse of clouds through the cockpit windows…well what he could see anyway, seeing it _was_ still 4 am in the morning and it was nearly pitch black outside.

The lead pilot of the plane, a 30-year old veteran with the United States Air Force, a colonel as denoted by the eagle insignia on both his shoulders with the eagle head facing the man's front, turned in his seat to gaze at the young officer.

"So…what brings you up here son? It's still an hour till dawn and I doubt you'll find anything exciting while here in the cockpit." The man said in a Texan accent. He got a shrug out of the young captain.

"Couldn't sleep," he said easily, "Got last minute orders to redeploy to London with my company. Seeing as I'm already up, I've decided to come up here to enjoy the calming atmosphere. Listening to the drone of the engines while in the cockpit is quite soothing to me."

The Air Force colonel raised a slightly surprised eyebrow. "London, eh? Our current course is Edinburgh in Scotland…we've haven't received orders to..." The man paused as he suddenly pressed his hands over his earpiece, listening in on a transmission. John had no doubt in his mind that it was High Command that contacted the pilot. His thoughts were confirmed when the pilot punched in new coordinates into the flight computer of the plane before turning to face him.

"You're right son. It must be big if High Command came directly to me to give direct orders. Sit tight captain, we're heading to London. Top speed." The colonel said simply before tuning in his radio, "To all Angel elements, this is Big Sky, set new course for London Heathrow Airport; direct orders from Field Marshal Bingham."

"Angel 1-1 Actual copies all, over and out." One of the other pilots said over the radio.

The man turned his attention back to his flight instruments. "ETA to London 2 hours, captain." He said

"John"

The man smirked. "Not one for formalities eh? You've got more spunk than a deer looking at a car's headlights, Colonel Zachary Bailey, USAF." He introduced himself and gestured towards the man in the copilot seat, "This is my copilot, Captain Raymond Sanchez." The man inclined his head to show that he acknowledged it.

"Nice to meet you Zach, you too Ray" John said as he extended a hand, which both men gladly accepted.

"Same here. Never thought one of the army grunts would be this polite to an Air Scout." Zach remarked.

John just shook his head and sighed, "You know I never understood the prejudiced part of the military. I don't see what the big deal is. Army, Marine Corps, National Guard, Navy, Air Force….in the end, we're all still the same, fighting for the Free World's ideals." He said.

Zach smirked again. "I like your style young man. You and I will get along just fine…"

And soon the entire trip to London was finished with the three officers talking about different subjects and topics, ranging from politics to military. John found that he liked the conversations he held with the pilots. He hoped it would be the beginning of the end of the prejudice between the branches of the Armed Forces.

* * *

0800 hours

Allied Command Headquarters, London

John knocked on the door which led into the Field Marshal's office and frankly, he was a bit nervous. After arriving almost 2 hours earlier, he had his company made routine checks on their equipment and supplies, restocking what were needed and replacing old equipment with the new. He could tell just by looking at the base personnel during his brief time at the airport that the situation was grim. Frowns and tense expressions dominate the working personnel's features, and that didn't serve to lift the spirits of his men, who were fresh from the States. They were rookies. All of them; never fired their weapons in anger before and had never been in tense combat operations like wars were so accustomed to include.

John sighed inwardly. Every man in his company was counting on him to lead them and inspire them, and they respected him a great deal because of his natural leading abilities and his sincere and empathy towards his men's wellbeing. Nearly five hundred lives were in his hands now, and he could feel the pressure of the burden weighing on his shoulders.

Just before he left his company, he gave a speech to them, stating that whatever happens after today, he would always stand by them, and told them to stand fast, stand strong, and stand proud. He could tell his men were taking his words to heart.

He was snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a muffled voice call out to him from the inside of the office, "Come in."

John took his queue and turned the knob on the door before pushing the door in, squaring his shoulders and walking inside. He was greeted by the Field Marshal in all his authoritative glory, which slightly intimidated him. Bingham was leaning lazily against his desk while scanning through a multitude of reports from the front in his hands. The wizened man looked up to see John standing in the middle of the room in front of him, at attention.

John saluted him firmly, his posture that of a disciplined and officer. "Captain Johnathan Reynolds reporting for duty sir!" he said firmly.

Bingham returned the salute. "At ease Captain," When the man seemed at ease, Bingham decided to break the ice and get straight to the point.

"As you are already aware, but I think a formal introduction is in order," he tapped a few keys on his keyboard and the LCD screen on the wall to the left of his desk lit up with the image of a blonde haired woman wearing an Allied officer's uniform sitting on a desk.

John whistled inwardly to himself. She must be one of the most gorgeous women he had ever laid his eyes upon. He kept his posture though, opting for a more professional approach as he summoned his years of hard discipline to control himself. He smiled at her, who just smiled back.

Bingham pushed himself off his desk and stood upright. He cleared his throat. "I'm Field Marshal Robert Bingham, Chief of the Allied Military Command. I've been told you're a very capable officer," he said earning a slight sheepish look from John.

"I'm not that great sir…just doing what needs to be done." He said modestly. He was used to getting praise from his fellow comrades, not that he didn't appreciate it, but he felt that he didn't deserve praise as long as he didn't earned the right to do so. Bingham chuckled as he shook his head, amused.

"I am just reading it from the reports that's all." He answered causing John to slightly face fault and sigh.

"Never believe what's in the reports sir, they're over exaggerated."

Bingham laughed heartily, but it held a slight weariness and fatigue in them, due to being in the office working day and night without pause for so long and it is starting to take its toll on the man.

John sighed sadly. This pointless war is taking its toll on everyone in the world. Men and women are dying; children are crying….that's the reality of war. He silently cursed the Soviets for starting this mess. He swore he would bring them to justice one way or another…

He was so engrossed in his own thoughts to not realize that Bingham was speaking to him. He snapped out of his reverie as Bingham waved a hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention.

"Are you alright there Captain? You kind of spaced out there for a second." Bingham asked. John also saw that the woman in the screen was looking at him quite worriedly too.

"Sorry 'bout that sir, I have a lot on my mind right now…" John answered truthfully.

"Your parents?"

John was silent at first, unsure whether to tell his commanding officer or not, finally he relented and said in a quiet voice, "Yes sir…", he hung his head down and relaxed his posture as Bingham waved his hand in a dismissive matter, indicating it was alright. He inhaled deeply, and then exhaled. "They're the only family I had left. My uncle died during the second war and my other uncle died just a few weeks ago…"

"I'm sorry…I didn't mean to intrude…" Bingham apologetically said.

John shrugged his shoulders while shaking his head, saying, "It's alright sir. You didn't know. I personally asked my superiors to leave that one out of the reports. Sorry sir."

Bingham nodded. "I assume this won't affect your combat effectiveness?"

"Of course not sir, I have every intention to fight on one hundred and ten percent. If we don't stop this war…if the Reds set foot upon US soil…"John said.

Bingham nodded, already knowing what the young man was implying. "Then I've found the right man for the job…" he said causing the young man to look up in surprise. He hadn't expected this from the legendary commander. It was already bad enough he had poured all of his insecurities in front of him like a raging current, he was sure that was the end of his new appointment career.

"What?" was the man's intelligent reply.

Bingham chuckled. "I said I've found the right man for the job in you. How would you like to become my direct subordinate?" he asked with seriously. John was speechless for a moment before he straightened up and saluted smartly. He was never going to miss the chance of serving directly under the head boss of the Allies. It was a chance that many officers would love to be in is shoes right now. But, there was still the inkling doubt that lingered at the back of his mind

"Of course sir, it would be an honor!"

The wizened man nodded slowly with a smile. "I'm glad." He walked around his desk and sat down on the chair. "I hereby assign you the rank of Colonel and Commander of the Allied Forces in England. Do you accept?" he asked with a serious expression. He wanted to know whether the man was up to the task of such a burden. Most officers would already be overwhelmed by the sheer pressure just by commanding a small unit, much less an entire continent of troops!

John was quiet, very quiet as his mind assimilated all the information that was given to him. In just under 24 hours he went from a desk jockey to a commander of a company and finally a commander of the Allied Forces in England. He kept his facial expressions blank as he weighed the pros and cons of taking command of such a large force. After a few more minutes of contemplating, he finally made his decision.

"How many battalions are there in fighting condition?" he asked which slightly surprised the Field Marshal.

"….a couple of battered ones and the fresh one that just arrived with you from the United States, why?"

"When do I leave?"

Smiling in satisfaction, Bingham handed John a pocket folder holding all the documents and I.D tags that identified his new rank and position. "Welcome aboard Colonel. The defense of Great Britain is now in your hands."

John chuckled nervously. "No pressure sir."

"I wouldn't be giving you this position if I deemed you not worthy of it. Make us proud, make the Free World proud of you." Bingham said with conviction as he encouraged the young man. John merely smiled and nodded with confidence as he saluted the man one more time. He also noted that the Field Marshal had a relieved expression on his face; obviously because he accepted his new position. But what he didn't know was that almost all of the Allies' senior commanders are either dead or fighting in Europe.

Bingham gestured at the woman in the screen. "Commander I would like you to meet, Lieutenant Eva. She will be your intel officer and communications liaison."

John blinked. That was the name of the woman who contacted him that morning. Even over the intercom her voice sounded like an angel's, but now seeing her in person, or rather, in video, completely confirmed his thoughts and it blew him away. She was one word: gorgeous. Drop dead kind of gorgeous. The form fitting officer's uniform showed off her curves at just the right places and her well-endowed _assets._ She had a lovely angled face and long blonde hair that reached down the small of her back. Her toned legs were nothing to be laughed at either as it was long and slender. All in all, she was a goddess in his eyes.

John kept his face blank though, as he didn't want to ruin her first impression of him. He opted for a smile and greeted.

"Hello, I'm looking forward to working with you Lieutenant." He said pleasantly.

Eva at fist had been skeptical when the Field Marshal had assigned her the job of being the young commander's liaison, she thought it was a waste of her abilities and also if the young man was like any of the other ones who just ogled at her, she'd turn down the request upon meeting him. But upon contacting him over the intercom, she had noticed that this man was…different than the others. He seemed more composed, polite, and professional than the other commanders she'd worked with from time to time. She wondered whether this commander would be the one she will finally be able to work with, and her questions were answered and all her fears were already put to rest after meeting said commander via video. Truth be told, he was one of the most handsome men she had ever laid her eyes on, and she knew her stuff when it came to men. His posture, the way he spoke, the way he saluted and smiled at her…he was almost everything every woman can dream of.

She shook her head slightly to clear her thought process as the young man spoke to her, hoping both her superiors wouldn't see her slight movement. She smiled and replied, "Glad to have you on board sir."

"The pleasure is mine." He smiled inwardly as he noticed the slight movement of her head, indicating she was in deep thought before speaking to him. This amused him a great deal. Was she checking him out?

"Field Marshal," Eva's melodious voice suddenly sounded, "The President is ready for you."

Bingham sighed as John straightened up. On another similar LCD screen sat a balding man with bright blue eyes that held so much energy in them one would think the man ate energy for a living. He was sitting behind a delicately carved wooden desk and wearing a tailored suit with a red tie. This was one of the most powerful men on Earth. This was President Howard Terence Ackerman of the United States, and he was sipping his coffee from a huge mug with the words 'God Bless America' etched on it.

Bingham cleared his throat, saying, "Mr. President. I would like you to meet our new Commander on the ground, Colonel John Reynolds."

"Greetings Colonel!" the President greeted with a southern country accent, "I've heard a lot about you, since you're one of my guys." He laughed lightly as he said that, "You ready to send those commies running back to their mommies?"

John nodded seriously as Ackerman leaned back on his leather chair. "I sure hope so cause if you don't stop them over there, the only thing standing between those godless reds and the US of A is going to be one little ocean."

"I_ absolutely_ agree Mr. President; we cannot allow the Soviets to secure a foothold in Great Britain…" Bingham said.

"I'm with you on that one sir." John said.

"That's the spirit partner; I'll send you a postcard from the White House when the war's over and invite you over for a drink. How about it?" The President said with a hearty laugh, to which John just smiled and nodded. The man he voted for was truly a great man. His grass roots, roll-up-his-sleeves style really helped out the US in these dark times.

As the President cut the link, Bingham turned to his new subordinate and said seriously, "As you know, the Russians are moving towards Brighton Beach as we speak. I've ordered what units that we have to RV there at 0800 hours. Defend it; Brighton Beach must not fall, understood?"

John nodded and saluted as he put on his officer's cap. He saluted the Supreme Commander one last time before pivoting on his heels and walked out speedily, intent on getting to the front as soon as possible. Bingham had a small smile on his face as he watched the retreating form of the young commander. Eva, who was still online over the vid com, saw the look and said,

"You really do believe in him, don't you?"

Bingham just nodded and said,

"I trust my instincts this time Eva. And my instincts tell me that he will bright about the salvation of the Free Word."

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**Please review. This is my first fanfiction so please be gentle and help me out okay? Alright, Peace out!**


	2. Chapter Two The Build Up

**Disclaimer: I don't own Red Alert 3 or any other things that belong to EA. If so, I wouldn't be sitting here writing fanfiction now would I?**

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**0657 hours**

**Outskirts of Brighton Beach**

"Err, sir, remind us again why are we promoted right off the bat by High Command without informing us beforehand?"

John sighed for the umpteenth time; he'd been trying to explain the situation to his subordinates in his company, now _former _company platoon leaders High Command's decision to promote his NCO's to full-fledged officers to lead several companies worth of infantry…and frankly the guys aren't taking it so well as he hoped.

"Because I've been assigned to take command of the defense of Brighton Beach and I want you guys to be by my side…I can't do this without you guys." John pleaded.

The former support platoon leader, now Delta Company leader Second Lieutenant William 'Will' James spoke up in a low and respectful tone, "I'll follow you all the way John…besides, who's gonna pull your ass out of the fire when you're in deep shit. Not these jokers I doubt." He said with a smirk while he angled his head towards his other comrades, who were starting to get infuriated. He had jet black short hair and dark colored eyes along with facial hair that was well kept that was on his chin and jawline.

"Hey," yelled the always enthusiastic Richard 'Richie' Stanley, "don't count us out just yet! We may be green but we're pretty handy in a fight you know!" This young man had brown hair and black eyes and was just fresh out of the academy at the tender age of 19.

"Says the kid who doesn't even know how to shave yet…." Will said nonchalantly and was about to get another verbal lashing from the younger man before he was abruptly cut off by Matthew 'Matt' Thompson's head lock, earning loud protests from the young man. This man however had dirty blonde hair that he kept long and in a spiky ponytail. He had blue eyes and also facial hair that ran down his jawline.

"Will's right, gotta get your head in the game kid, cause' shit's just got real, so don't get cocky alright?" Matt said with a laugh as he tightened his grip around Richie's head, earning another round of protests from him.

"Alright, alright, I get it! Will you please let me go now?!"

"Not until I squeeze you to death, until then I'm not satisfied."

"HEY! DAMN YOU MATT!"

"Always feeling the love kid, keep them coming…" Everyone present laughed at the younger man's expense, which made him quite peeved.

"Alright, alright knock it off you two." John said separating the two wayward officers. Although they always acted like they were going to kill each other, but that's their special way of bonding and respecting with each other, and that made them unique and special in John's eyes. But sometimes some professional discipline must be administered in order for them to be truly well behaved. "Remember you're all officers now, not some backwater jockey post that you guys always abhorred, so act like one." he reprimanded sternly causing his subordinates to nod.

"We know sir. But it's still hard to wrap our mind around it all you know?" Lieutenant Rupert 'Sandy' Sanborn said honestly while craning his neck. He was one of the most distinguishable people in the battalion, namely his African-American decent and also his bald head that reflects sunlight of it like a mirror. He had brown eyes and a relaxed looking demeanor but he was infamous for his no-nonsense, down-to-earth, rock hard discipline and that was what made him the perfect drill instructor of the battalion. In the words of Sanborn himself: 'there's a difference between trained marksmen and untrained rookies…sure the Reds can shoot, but who can shoot better?'

John sighed and chuckled lightly, saying, "Since I'll be commanding a battalion of my own and also in overall command of other battalions in the area so…yeah, it's hard to wrap your mind around it…."

For the past half hour he had been acquainting himself with the multinational troops of his battalion; the new Allied First Battalion, under the newly formed Allied First Division formed from the remnants of the Allied troops that had retreated from France and Spain after a disastrous counterattack mere weeks ago that left thousands dead and wounded. The commander in charge of the operation died when his Mobile Construction Vehicle was ambushed by a company of Apocalypse tanks while en route to Dunkirk for evacuation; a fitting end for a disgraceful commander who led his troops to death needlessly.

John shook his head sadly. Most of the remnant troopers are weary and shell-shocked and very low on morale. After repeated defeats at the hands of the Soviets, it was taking its toll on the proud men and women of the armed forces of the Allies. He had also been briefed on the current situation: Field Marshal Bingham was reassembling and reorganizing the Allied Military into a more uniformed fighting force, starting with the Allied First Division under his direct command. He would leave the troops already stationed in Amsterdam and the Netherlands to defend the area for the time being while he focused on raising a new army from scratch in England.

Although some called it crazy, others called it a risky gamble made by the Supreme Commander to finally turn the tide against the Soviets. Starting a new army from scratch was not an easy task, as it would require all the necessary requirements to form an army such as proper logistics, equipment, training and leadership. Now the Field Marshal had three battered battalions in his division, but it was something and it laid the groundwork for the rest of the army. John had no doubt in his mind that the plan, while risky, was worth the shot…after the disastrous defeat by the Russians in Europe the Allied Military needed an overhaul.

Now they were on the outskirts of the city of Brighton Beach and even now the fresh Peacekeepers from the United States were already hard at work evacuating the city. John remembered when he met the Peacekeeper Corps for the first time and to be blunt he thought they looked more suited to be heavily armored riot police than frontline soldiers. With their thick Kevlar armor, hardened shoulder, knee and elbow pads, a riot helmet and visor, a riot shield and a Grummond-8 pump shotgun, they resemble hulking juggernauts capable of absorbing massive amounts of damage before going under. But when he put them to the test during mock combat and had them teamed up with his troops, he was immensely surprised by the sheer skill and determination of the Peacekeepers in both completing an objective and also keeping their comrades safe from harm. One of the examples was when a lone Peacekeeper offered himself up as a bullet magnet by pulling out his riot shield and telling his peers to do the same while ordering John's own less armored troops to take cover behind their shield wall.

Another instance when John was impressed by the Peacekeepers was when one of his troops got badly injured in the middle of the battlefield during the mock battle and everyone thought he was done for as no one could reach him in the no man's land and was about to be labelled killed in action when one of the Peacekeepers made a move that completely stunned the audience that was watching. Instead of letting his comrade die in the middle of the battlefield when he could be saved, the lone Peacekeeper drew his shotgun, shouted out a battle cry, and charged forward towards the downed trooper, firing as he went. The training shotgun pellets rained hell over the 'enemy' positions and kept their heads down long enough for the Peacekeeper to drag the trooper out of harm's way. After this display of selfless gallantry by almost every Peacekeeper assigned under his command as Military Police during the mock battle, John offered a recommendation, back when he was still a junior officer, stating that instead of them being used to do something as mundane as MPs, he suggested to integrate them into the Allied fighting force as he said given enough training and practice with the regular troops, they could be a force to be reckoned with. There were also high ranking officials within the Allied Military and they too were impressed and had taken the recommendation by John very seriously.

That was a year ago. Now the Peacekeepers had been fully integrated in the Allied arsenal and they were proving to be absolute juggernauts on the battlefield as bullet magnets and close-quarter specialists. The Soviet Conscripts were already feeling the strain as the new Peacekeepers hammered their way through the conscript's lines with masterful efficiency and cunning. This served to boost the morale of the Allied troops ever so slightly and every little helps. And now, they need every little help they can get…

John snapped out of his stupor when a roar of jet engines thundered overhead. He quickly whipped out his binoculars to get a closer look at them a sure enough; there was the distinctive shape of a MIG interceptor with the Red Star of Russia. He slowly counted the number of jets, and finally settled on 12. He lowered the binoculars ever so slowly and narrowed his gaze at the horizon which leads towards the coast. He could faintly make out the dark silhouettes of naval ships slowly closing in on the horizon; it was only a matter of time…

"Richie!" John called out, making the young man jump to attention.

"Yes sir?"

"Is Charlie Company ready yet?"

"Of course sir, just waiting for your orders"

John seemed to pause for a minute to think something through before he spoke, "How good are those Javelin missile Launchers?"

Richie seemed to perk up after hearing that. It was no mystery to his comrades that he was into heavy weapons; hence he was assigned as Charlie Company's commander, since it was a heavy weapons company.

"Oh they're good alright. Can obliterate anything from tanks, bunkers to planes, you name it, it kills it…"he said confidently.

John nodded then gestured towards the brightening sky, the sun was just coming up. "Then here's your first order of business: Clear the skies."

Richie only needed to look up for a second before he saluted and went back to his company. His other officers also stood and waited for their orders.

"Our orders sir?"

"Follow me to my command vehicle." John simply said as they all made their way towards John's temporary command vehicle; an eight wheeled, lightly armored truck fitted with the latest communications, both satellite and shortwave equipment and two of John's favorite toys: the Land Warrior Mk. IV command console and also the cyber warfare suite.

The Land Warrior Mk. IV was the Allied equivalent of the new Soviet real-time communications network, the Bodark. Because of this new equipment, Russian commanders are now able to communicate directly to each individual combat unit and able observe the battlefield in real-time, effectively increasing the effectiveness and success rate of their campaigns. Soviet commanders can now command an entire army just by powering up a 16 inch wide screen laptop plugged in to an advanced communications array and satellite surveillance and voila, you have a fully functional army command console. Allied commanders were having problems with the Soviets utilizing this new technology and High Command quickly hired the Futuretech Corporation to help develop a counter.

The end result was the state of the art Land Warrior Mk. IV, an old idea in the 60s made new. The **Mk. IV** meant fourth generation, because the first three generations were a complete failure, as they didn't achieve the required specifications the Allies had hoped for. But now the Mk. IV surpassed its predecessors and even surpassed the Soviet Bodark in more ways than one that not even Allied High Command could even dream of. It was smarter, faster, and more efficient and also allowed real-time battle communications to be carried out. It also allows the user to fully interface with the battlefield through live-feed footages from cameras installed in every soldier's battle armor and also satellite imaging to create a 3D environment to fully comprehend and command units on the battlefield. It made commanding an army into a video game, as John would remark.

Although the Land Warrior gave the Allies a major strategic advantage, there was only one problem: the commanders themselves are not involved in the action and that clearly peeved the commanders in charge, as most of them wanted to fight alongside their comrades in arms, John himself included. He couldn't bear watching his soldiers be sent to the gates of hell on his orders and do nothing about it. But he knew that as a leader, he needed to lead from the front, but out of harm's way. He needed to stop being a soldier and start being a commander; a field commander. But that didn't mean he couldn't get into the action right….?

The cyber warfare suite was one of John's favorite pastimes: jamming enemy communications, intercepting them, collecting vital Intel from them….the possibilities of the suite were limitless. And above all, he was a master at cyber warfare. Even his peers back at West Point pointed out his uncanny and ruthless ability to manipulate the enemy with the cyber warfare suite and act on the information extracted from cracked communications telegrams. And now, with Great Britain under siege, he needed all the help he can get.

"Alright boys, hook up with the Land Warrior and report back to your companies. We're moving out at 0710. Is that clear?"

"Yes sir!"

As his subordinates left his command truck, he suited up in his advanced combat armor which consists of urban camouflaged regular ceramic plated body armor and hardened lightweight knee and elbow guards. It also consists of a pair of black combat boots and a tactical helmet fitted with a shortwave communications radio. From a side table he locked and loaded a USP. 45 pistol and holstered it to his right waist and also two K-Bar knives which he sheathed one in one of his boots and the other he sheathed in the knife compartment of his body armor. He still wore his captain's insignia on his leafy shoulder sleeve; he didn't bother to change the rank. He picked up a few magazines for the pistol and when he was ready, he nodded towards the driver of the truck. The driver nodded back and revved the engines.

John took a calming breath to collect himself as he activated the Land Warrior system. Every unit under his command, from his four companies to every last squad, he was able to remain contact with them all. He immediately uploaded the detailed map of Brighton Beach to the system and pinpointed the exact locations of several rendezvous points and coordinates to his units. Once that was done, he quickly drew on another map detailing the lines of defense for the area. He would need them soon enough.

That was when he got a call from HQ via his Land Warrior system. He quickly patched it in. And soon enough a face which was forever etched into his mind appeared on the video screen right next to his command console. She was sitting behind a desk with a desktop on her left and several blocks of servers situated behind her.

"Commander?" Lieutenant Eva McKenna said.

"Aye, it's me Lieutenant."

"You will be assigned a co-commander for this mission, he will aid in the defense of Great Britain."

"Alright… Is he even remotely close to workable?" John skeptically asked, earning a light laugh from the blonde beauty which to him was the sound of angels.

"I wouldn't call him unworkable but he gets the job done. He's quite a gentleman mind you so please do try to get along, as he has a tendency to flash his shiny chevrons around…" Eva replied with a small roll of her eyes, which made John's eyes widen in recognition.

"Wait, wait, wait a god damned minute." John said quickly which slightly surprised the blonde woman.

"Why? Is he too unsuitable for you?" she asked suspiciously. If this man was like any other commanders she'd worked with, he would violently turn the offer down, and she would definitely request a transfer. After all, she was like a daughter to the Field Marshal and quite frankly she didn't like working with the majority of the Allied commanders, except quite a few. They were just too arrogant for her taste. She thought her first impression of him as wrong and wanted to try and reason with his _supposed _ego. But she was shocked out of her pessimistic thoughts at what he said next.

"A gentleman and a showoff…it is Giles isn't it? Commander Giles Price?" John said with a chuckle.

Shocked seeing that the man before her knew his co-commander, she quickly asked, "Y-yes, you know him?"

"More than know him, he was the first man I met during my tactical course training back at West Point when that old badger was invited to give us a talk about his achievements as an ace in the RAF and as a commander." John said with a nod and smiled, "He wasn't even older than me by what…3 years at most? Anyways, because most of my class didn't take too kindly to a showoff and a Brit for that matter trying to rub us off, most of them, ehem, 'mutinied' and that left me and Giles alone."

Eva was further intrigued by this new commander. Every time she thought she had figured him out, he would come back at you with something entirely different. She couldn't help be more and more curious about this handsome young man, not that she wanted to start a relationship with him or anything. Wait, where did that thought come from? She quickly shook her head to clear that thought as she felt her cheeks grow warm. She didn't know what drove her to think like that, she thought it has to be lack of sleep. She smiled though when John mentioned about the class mutiny and she couldn't help but laugh lightly.

"So what happened?" she asked which surprised even herself. _Why did I ask him that question?_

"Well, he got all depressed and the like so I just started talking to him like a normal student would. He was actually quite a good man to talk to when he wasn't showing off his chevrons. He taught me military tactics that involved commanding vast air forces and fast striking heavy ground forces to finish the job. Throughout that ordeal, he and I bonded as friends, and when the day arrived when he was going back to the front, he promised me that when one day I became a field commander, he would support me and be by my side all the way." John continued as he smiled at the memory.

Eva smiled warmly; this young man was becoming more promising by the minute. She finally rested her fears about him being another arrogant ass; he was none of it, quite the opposite in fact. She made a silent decision and would continue to serve under her new superior, since he was one of the best she'd seen so far.

"Well," Eva said as she got the Commander's attention, "it's actually why he is here. He requested to be your co-commander when he heard you were promoted to field duty."

John chuckled long and hard. "Heh, so the bastard actually requested a transfer?" he chuckled again, "That old badger never changed."

"He's on the line if you want to meet him. He's commanding the Allied Second Battalion." Eva prompted.

"Put him through Lieutenant."

The Intelligence Officer typed a few keys on her keyboard and her image was joined by another one, in this case a young man in his late 20s. He had short brown hair and a round face and hair. He had almond colored eyes that radiate authority and years of experience as a field commander. He also had a small smile on his face and was wearing an officer's uniform with a whole lot of chevrons on his lapel, quite typical for the man to dress up this way. John smiled when he noticed the smug and happy expression that was on his friend's features. It was good to finally see him again.

"Hey Giles, how's it going?"

"Quite spiffy old chap, nothing like the rush of battle getting you energized again correct?" Giles said as he laughed along with John.

"It's good to see you again, and as my co-commander no less."

"Well I did promise you when you became a commander I would be by your side right? And you know how I hate missing a chance to get more recommendations." Giles remarked with a smirk.

"Always with the chevrons… glad to see you haven't changed." John remarked jokingly earning a laugh from Eva as she listened in to their conversation.

Giles laughed as well as he turned serious. "Of course I wouldn't change. Anyhow, back to more serious business, here's how it goes. I'm deploying to the west of your position near the park while my troops secure the west end of the city, while you…" he was cut off mid-sentence by a sudden roar of jet engines followed by distinctive swooshing sound that belonged to a Javelin missile launching.

Giles turned around and yelled at the first person near him, "Clear the damned skies will you chap? We haven't got all day here to mope around!" A sound of affirmative was heard before he turned his attention back to John and Eva, who was busy receiving vital Intel from High Command. Several more swooshing noises were heard before several thunderous booms can be heard from a distance.

John raised an eyebrow. "Well what do you know…the kid actually destroyed them..."he said as he smiled.

"That's just a scouting vanguard of MIGs. After that, since our air power is limited right now, the Reds are sure to follow up with…"Giles started to ay before John finished for him.

"Badgers filled with countless troops para-dropping into the city, followed by an amphibious assault and finally a full scale bombardment by the Red Navy…"

"My, my you sure grew up some when I last saw you…we're in quite a mess here I must say."

John smirked. "And getting out of a mess is my specialty."

"Alright keep in touch Johnny boy, and see you on the other side so we can have biscuits and tea for lunch, Giles out."

After Giles cut the connection, John focused his attention on Eva, "Lieutenant, I need any and all information regarding the invasion force. I want to know exactly what are we up against."

"Alright commander, I'll notify you if any come up." Eva replied and sent the young commander a sultry smile and a wink before she tuned herself out.

John stumbled back slightly from surprise, shocked from what he had witnessed, before chuckling to himself and shaking his head in amusement. Things are starting to get interesting but he didn't know what was worse; the war with the Reds or his steadily growing affection towards the blonde female Intelligence Officer. Although it was just a small attraction, he didn't know how far it could go. So he put that thought aside and decided to let time play things out.

He tuned in to the frequencies of all of his company leaders and spoke in a clear, authoritative voice, "All company leaders report in; this is Colonel Johnathan Reynolds, call-sign Eagle-6"

"Richie here, Charlie Company, ready and able sir, call-sign Charlie-6"

"Matt here, Bravo Company, locked and loaded, call-sign Bravo-6"

"This is Sanborn, Delta Company in position, call-sign Delta-6"

"Alpha Company, awaiting orders, call-sign Alpha-6, by the way it's Will here," earning him a couple of groans and chuckles from his peers. John nodded. It's time. He tuned the frequency to _'to all'_. Every man and woman in the battalion heard a slight buzzing of static over their earpieces and they all quieted so that their commander could speak, and speak he did,

"To all First Battalion elements, this is your commander speaking," John said in a leveled and serious tone that held an air of confidence in them, "As you know, Brighton Beach is going to be invaded by the Soviet Union and we're the only ones who can stop them," Everyone was quiet and tense as they held onto their commander's every word, "I know most of you are scared. I am too. But don't lose heart. Now I'm not a big fan of sugarcoating things so I'm going to be blunt: We might not survive this encounter…"This made a lot of the soldiers, especially younger ones and the females to gasp in shock while the more veteran troopers just remained quiet as they continued to listen to their commander,

"The Soviets outnumber us 2 to 1. They have resources that overshadow our own. They have countless of able troops ready to bring death and destruction to all of Great Britain and the last bastion of Free Europe…" John continued. Many of his troops were already on the brink of collapse and their morale is at an all-time low. The shell-shocked troopers from the retreat from Europe were weeping; the fresh recruits from Boot Camp were shaking and trembling uncontrollably, while the veterans had somber expressions on their faces. Everything seemed hopeless for them and the Free World…

"…but hear this, my fellow brothers and sisters…" everyone perked up at his voice and paid attention, no matter how hopeless the situation could be, "while we may be fighting a losing battle, but I believe in one thing, and that is not everything is cast in stone…" the more experienced started to pick up on what their new commander is saying, and it started to bring them hope, "and we have the right to change our destiny…"

"It's not about who's got the biggest stick in the fight, it matters much more on who's swinging it. The Reds may have more firepower than us, more troops than us, more resources than us, but they lack _one_ thing that _we_ possess: **determination**, the will to fight on for the benefit of the Free World. To fight against those who seek to destroy all that we hold dear to our hearts. We fight not because we were forced to fight, but we are fighting to protect our loved ones." John continued to say, his voice rising with every word. The men and women of his battalion started to buckle up; there were no more tears and uncertainty in their eyes, only rage and determination; the will to protect those that they cherish. Soldiers grabbed their weapons, engineers checked their vehicles and equipment, medics did last minute checks on their patients, everyone was tensed up and ready to do their part.

"So let me say this one more time ladies and gentlemen, _**never give up**_. We will fight them on the beaches, we will fight them in the streets, we will fight them in the buildings, we will fight them on the waters, we will fight them in the skies…but we will NEVER surrender. Never give in to the pressure and demand of our enemies. Rise and fight in the name of the Free World! For Freedom! For Liberty! For the ALLIES!" John finally shouted out, earning him a roar of approval from thousands of throats on the battlefield.

Satisfied, he gave the order to move out. "Alpha Company, rendezvous point at grid square Kilo-2-niner, Charlie Company rendezvous at…." He continued to give out orders and finally after a few more minutes, the orders were given out and his battalion was on the way. Giles had also given out orders to his own battalion and was protecting John's flank as he moved in from the west. Everything was going as well as they hoped. The MCVs had arrived and they would provide resources for their forward bases near two ore mines in the city center.

John had a serious and solemn look on his face as he looked on as his troops slowly marched towards the battle. 2000 Allies against 5000 Soviets….not a bad number considering the fact that the Allies were exhausted and the Soviets were fresh so they sent a smaller force than usual. John inwardly swore; he would make the Reds pay dearly for underestimating them.

"Into the valley of Death, rode the six hundred." he muttered, briefly reciting one of Tennyson's poems, as it was quite fitting for the occasion, as the Allies faced certain doom with both valor and determination.

"_I promise you this everyone. I will personally see to an end with this pointless war, count on it!"_

* * *

**Phew, finally done with the second chapter. Hope you all like my integration of modern military technology with sci-fi. Please leave a review…it helped me so much when 'Just a Crazy-Man' reviewed. Thank you man! **

**Well, HeirOfRohan is outta here!**


	3. Chapter Three Baptism by Fire and Steel

**Disclaimer: I don't own Red Alert 3 or any other things that belong to EA. If so, I wouldn't be sitting here writing fanfiction now would I?**

* * *

**0730 hours**

**Brighton Beach**

* * *

Corporal Michael Thompson had seen better days in his life as a soldier. Being called for sentry duty was one of them, and then there was the usual MP jobs left for low rank grunts like him. But being called to active duty and pulled to the frontlines was never one of those days, and frankly he was excited and scared at the same time; excited for the chance of fighting the good fight, scared because of the fact that this may be his first and last combat deployment as a soldier. Those were the thoughts that ran through his mind as he strolled down the dirt road back to his company which was camped not far down the road. He had decided to take a leak that morning and he was just coming back. He had blue eyes, dark hair, and was clean shaven, as were required by every infantryman.

He stopped in his musings as his Land Warrior system flashed an incoming message into his visor,which was labelled 'PRIORITY ALERT' and by the frequency indicated, it was directed battalion-wide. He tapped a few times on the data pad on his left wrist before a message was displayed on the Heads-Up Display (HUD). It read a simple line of words that echoed the urgency of the order: '_Lock and load, we're Oscar Mike in five.'_ The man narrowed his eyes as he sprinted the rest of the way back to his company, hopefully in time to report back to his company.

* * *

First Battalion, Allied First Division was made up of four, roughly two hundred-man companies which were respectively labelled A, B, C, and D companies. A Company, or Alpha Company was primarily the reconnoiter element of the battalion, as they were comprised of the top men and women of the Allied Recon School, and they were masters of the art of keeping a low profile and information gathering. They were now led by the newly appointed, highly charismatic and not to mention dramatic, Lieutenant William 'Will' James. Although never one for sneaking around and peeking at the enemy while they sat there like a fish in a barrel ready for a serious pounding, the young officer understood the importance of information gathering and scouting during a battle, as it could mean the difference between victory and defeat. So, he decided to lay off the heat of going-into-a-battle-gung-ho-style for a more sedate pace of recon, but he would still take the option of going guns blazing when the opportunity presents itself.

The man was currently looking over his troop displacements and troop strength in his command tent as his mind whirled into careful calculations, strategies and scenarios while playing them out in his head. First Platoon comprised mostly lightly armored and armed soldiers with a full complement of thirty highly trained German Shepherds, or by their more commonly used term: Attack Dogs, for sniffing out disturbances and irregularities on the field while also locating hidden enemy entrenchments and ambush sites. These 75 pound, 25 inch high canines were the cream of the famed Allied CCR, the Canine Combat Research program in Newark, New Jersey, and it was proving to be a blessing in disguise, as their selflessness, vigilance and loyalty were saving countless lives across the globe. Deadly in one on one combat, the Attack Dog's agility enables it to swiftly pounce on an enemy before claiming his life just as quickly with a quick chomp to their vitals, either the neck of the jugular. Truly they are man's best friend, an _Allied _man's friend to be precise, as these canines rarely show any remorse for the Soviets.

The rest of the troops of First Platoon were armed with the standard issue, hard hitting, reliable, 6.5mm SCAR-A1 Assault rifle (1).It looks pretty similar to the ones used by the United States Army Rangers years before, and now it had become standard issue among the Allied ranks. Its robust, hardy and composite build made it a favorite among the troops and soon it was being fielded by every branch of the Allied Military. The fifty or so troops of First Platoon fielded the standard configurations of a reflex sight and an underslung 40mm grenade launcher along with the standard 30-round magazine.

Some of the more seasoned and well-trained marksmen in the platoon also carried the Accuracy International Arctic Warfare Police sniper rifle, or AWP for short; a trusty and deadly weapon of choice for the Allied the trusty .308 Winchester cartridge, professional marksmen can take out a target the size of a golf ball from over a mile away. All in all, they were more than well equipped for their assigned tasks. Because they were trained to be fast and light on their feet, no Peacekeepers were integrated into their elements, as the bulky troopers, no matter how tough they were, would slow the platoon down; and that would greatly hinder the platoon's forte as a recon unit.

Lieutenant Will nodded to himself as he sent out orders and uploaded data files via the Land Warrior uplink to the rest of First Platoon, which included maps and geographical data on the city's surroundings and suburbs. The man smiled inwardly. The Land Warrior was the next best thing since bread and butter. It was like plying a video game, but on a much grander and realistic scale, as they could receive oncoming data and relay them to everyone in the battalion, everything centralized and in order.

The dark haired man then turned his attention to Second and Third Platoon, who were A Company's core combat element. There wasn't much difference in load out between the two companies, as both were primarily light skirmish units intended for hit and run attacks and hard-hitting ambushes before pulling out and were not intended for long, drawn out battles. So the soldiers in them were normally equipped with the standard issue SCAR-A1 and for more heavier firepower they also wielded FGM-170 Javelin II fire-and-forget missiles; the same ones that destroyed MIG fighters earlier that day. Second Platoon also consisted of a light mechanized detachment of Multigunner IFVs.

Will checked his HUD and the time showed seven thirty five in the morning. He grabbed his rifle from the nearby rack and cocked back the bolt of the rifle loading a new round into it, before flipping the safety off. He nodded to his aide, a young woman in her 20s, also decked out in full combat armor and rifle, and her HUD ID identified her as PFC Howell.

The young woman nodded back. "Ready when you are sir."

"I was born ready." Will said with a predatory grin which was mirrored by the woman as they walked out of the command tent and into the then made his way towards the nearby officers' tent to give out the briefing to his subordinates.

* * *

"Mike! Where the hell you've been?! We're supposed to be moving out in five minutes! What kept you?"

Corporal Michael Thompson glanced up from his position on the ground to see his best friend Corporal Anton Carino glaring at him from the doorway of the temporary armory. He had reached his bunk area just in time when the order to move out was sounded. He quickly moved past his other squad mates who were already fully equipped and went to the armory to get his gear. He was just about finished donning his regular body armor and was about to tie his combat boots when his best friend decided to show up.

"Sorry, got caught up with nature." Mike said with a sheepish grin, but turned serious. "Did Sarge send you here?"

The brown haired, brown eyed average height man nodded as he adjusted his rifle which was in a sling on his right shoulder. "Yeah. He's quite…pissed to say the least and he wants to know what kept you."

The dark haired male winced slightly as he chided himself for not being punctual for anything… and now it was going to cost him.

Mike retrieve a weapon at the back of the armory, which was a M249 Squad Automatic Weapon, or SAW. It had been in service of the United States Army for over two decades and was now the standard issue LMG of the Allies, though modified to be able to fire 6.5mm rounds. He strapped a few two hundred round box magazines to himself before he turned his back to his friend, "Check me man?"

Anton did as he went over to his friend to check the straps and armor were properly put on and nodded. "You're good. Now come on."

"Right, right…" replied the dark haired male as they went out of the armory.

After a full five minutes of fast-paced walking, they finally arrived at the muster area where their squads are waiting. Anton turned to him, "See you around man. Word of advice: Don't die."

"I'll keep that in mind." Mike replied with a smirk as he rejoined his squad, which was Charlie squad of First Platoon of A Company.

A tall, burly and well-built man turned his attention to the arriving young man. "Well, well, look who decided to show up. What do you got to say for yourself this time corporal?" the man asked with sarcasm literally dripping from his tone.

"Time out sir?"

"I'll deal with you later. Right now we're moving out." Sergeant Kennard was always a patient man. But when it came to a certain man he couldn't help but be infuriated further by this constant tardiness. How the hell the man made it through boot camp? He may never know. He turned to face his squad as Thompson rejoined its ranks. He cleared his throat before speaking.

"As of right now. We're about to initiate combat operations. All weapons are free and we shoot anything the screams Red Commies, got that?" he received a chorus of acknowledgements from his squad. It was at this time that the platoon leader decided to make his entrance as every man and woman stood at attention. The man was average in height and had dirty blonde hair and blue eyes. His tag identified him as a Master Sergeant Hennad as he looked around his platoon before nodding.

"Alright, platoon," the tanned skin man called out to his troops, "Maps and geographical data are being uploaded as we speak, so check your HUDs. We have spy satellites in geosynchronous orbit feeding us live data streams of the situation in Brighton, so stay alert. Since we ALL know what's at stake here, I don't need to remind you how important this battle is to us. A Company will be moving into the city on foot, as we'll be reconnoitering, as well as sweep and clear the city for any hostiles that might have taken up positions there. The rest of the battalion will follow up in Multigunners and troop trucks. Understand?" He received a chorus of acknowledgements from his platoon, and Hennad nodded.

He typed a few keys on his data pad, before putting it away. He looked back at his platoon as he sounded again, "The plan is simple. Move in, sweep and clear, as no doubt the Reds must've paradropped troops into the city to create a foothold. We're to drive them out before making our stand there, understood?" He received another sounding of acknowledgments from his troops.

Sergeant Hennad checked his watch, and he hefted his rifle holding it in a ready poise and faced in the direction of the dawning sun was just looming over the horizon, denoted by the streaks of yellow light illuminating the city in black silhouettes. Everyone knew the calm atmosphere would end at any moment, and there wasn't much time to savor it either . . .

At that moment every HUD in the platoon saw a flashing green symbol appear on their visors, and everyone tensed up and got ready for action. Hennad grunted as he made some gestures with his hands to his troops, all the while updating new orders from his company commander.

"First Platoon! We're Oscar Mike!"

* * *

"Lieutenant James just called. Alpha Company's moving." An aide called over to John as he was still going over his battle plans.

"Understood, inform the rest of the battalion of this and keep me posted." he replied as the aide nodded and went back to his console.

John mentally calculated the time and the available resources he had at his disposal to properly manage his unit dispositions and how to maximize his meagre battalion's overall firepower to combat the Russians. He had also gotten word mere minutes ago that Giles's battalion was also on the prowl. He now had a clear picture of the situation in Brighton via his Land Warrior uplink which was connected directly into his integrated HUD in his helmet. His own First Battalion was coming in from the east while Giles's Second Battalion was inbound from the northwest.

Though some might find it risky, but the young Commander had decided to send in only his scout units to secure the city. Though Allied Doctrine frowned upon recon units taking over seemingly fortified positions of the enemy as compared to the norm of sending a fully-equipped battalion to do it, but those that he sent were not ordinary scouting units. They were the elite, as the recon units of Alpha Company were _no_ pushovers when it came to fighting, and John personally can vouch for their finesse . . .

He was currently in his Mobile Construction Vehicle or MCV with his command detachment moving steadily to the front as the massive turtle like vehicle lumbered along, its four massive threads making visible tracks on the main road to the city. Around the mobile command center Bravo and Charlie Companies provided security with Multigunners and several fire teams forming a perimeter around the core of the battalion, the buggy-like vehicles looked like something out of a LEGO factory or a child's toy car. If not for the standard 100mm missile packs mounted on the back or in some cases four-barreled smoothbore shotgun cannons and specialized sonic emitters that can stun enemies from _three hundred_ yards away, many people would think the Multigunner was a four-wheeled drive civilian vehicle.

Spy satellites had located two ore mining facilities that lay abandoned in the city proper, and John wasn't going to look a horse's gift in the mouth. After all, ore was a precious resource to have to any field commander, mined by automated dredging machines of the mining facilities built on ore deposits around the globe, and can be found anywhere, whether in the middle of a city, an island, a military base and the list goes on. These precious minerals help fund the war effort of both sides as these ores when melted down, contained valuable metal that were used to assemble weapons and vehicles of both sides, and it also acts as a source of income for both parties.

John turned his attention to his last company, Delta. There acting as reserve and were stationed at the back of the battalion, bringing up the rear. Though Lieutenant Rupert 'Sandy' Sanborn accepted the order without question, others in his company were not that pleased as they wanted to take a crack at the Soviets for attacking them. That train of thought was mirrored by everyone in the company and it took all of Sanborn's drill instruction to get them back in line, along with a few shouts and threats of court-martial if they ever got out of line.

Turning his attention to his command console, he frowned when he saw multiple red blips appear on his radar screen, and more of them appeared blanketing the screen with blinking red blips. Further identification showed them as Soviet Badger bombers carrying the initial assault force, no doubt to secure a strong foothold before the main force comes ashore. The young commander nodded; typical Soviet military tactics. He typed a few keys on his command console. Alpha Company needed this information to effectively combat the new threat, and Alpha were the only ones capable of that right now . . .

"A Company, Alpha-Six, this is Eagle-Six. Look sharp, enemy forces parachuting into your AO. Watch your backs. Sending you the new data now, it's being uploaded as we speak." John said into his Land Warrior over the comm. Channel.

"Roger. Receiving." came the reply of Lieutenant Will, his face appearing through the flat screen on the command console; his labored breathing barely audible as the sound of footsteps echoed in the background. "Got it. Don't worry about it sir. We'll have the city cleared before you can say 'hallelujah you commie sons of bitches!'"

John nodded slightly. "I'll hold you on to that Will,good huntin'. Eagle-Six out." he said as the image of Will winked out.

He turned his gaze towards one of his aides, a young man with brown hair and grey eyes whose ID identified him as a Private Monroe, as he ordered, "Get me Lieutenant Eva of Logistics and Intelligence on the line now!"

The young aide nodded. "On it sir!"

John sighed as he settled his gaze on the flat screen of his command console, his technicians working fervently to maintain overall stable connection with his forces.

The opening shots of the Battle of Brighton Beach were about to begin . . .

* * *

"Alright A Company, let's get this show on the road. Let's give these bastards a proper Allied welcoming committee shall we?" Lieutenant William James said into his comm. unit, and his company sounded off in hushed volumes as the company made its way on foot towards the city proper. The updated Intel images showed that the enemy had hastily assembled blocking teams and barricades along the entrances into the city with anything they could get their hands on; tables, chairs, desks, and even kitchen stoves were being used as cover for the defenders to take cover. The enemy's main objective is to hold out long enough for the main force to arrive . . .

But sadly, their military doctrine hadn't taught them about the possibility of the enemy of using unorthodox methods of warfare, as they didn't take into account that the Allies would use the _sewerage system _of Brighton Beach to get a drop on their adversaries, as Alpha Company was doing right now.

Light sounds of solid boots hitting against the wet and slippery floor were heard throughout the narrow, eight foot high, eleven feet wide tunnel where a stream of sewerage can be seen running along the other direction. It was anything but pleasant to the troopers as most of them had to cover their noses with their hands or had cotton buds stuck up their noses to fend off the ungodly odor of manure, crap and piss as the Recon Company made its way stealthily towards their enemy's positions.

Unknown to most people in the world except for the ones who lived there, Brighton Beach was built over a myriad of ancient sewers and small catacombs that were built in the Middle-Ages by the Normans. Over time, these had been left abandoned while the sewers were upgraded and maintained till this day by the inhabitants above them . . . and A Company was going to take full advantage of it.

Corporal Thompson swore inwardly as he fought off another wave of nausea threatening to take over him, as he gulped down hard on his spit and continued to move with is squad. He cursed the new company commander for the tenth time that day for coming up with this outrageous and downright disgusting plan of attack. Of all the ways to approach the city undetected, whether by sneaking into the city via the roads and alleyways to avoid detection, to using civilian cars marked with Soviet insignias as the data feed on their HUDs had noted their enemy using abandoned civilian vehicles as transport, the Lieutenant had to choose _this _plan out of all of them.

Many members in the company had already voiced their distaste of the plan but were quickly silenced by the Lieutenant's creative and unorthodox logic. He explained that the enemy would be least expecting them using these kinds of methods against them, so the element of surprise is with them. Add to it their skills in stealth and infiltration behind enemy lines, the plan was perfect at a tactical standpoint.

Thompson sighed as he glanced downward to his right to see an Attack Dog running beside him diligently and silently, occasionally sniffing the air for any intruders and disturbances. At first glance, these German Shepherds were nothing more than their species: dogs, but upon further observation, many would find they were much more than that; the sonic amplifier stunners and Kevlar vests donned on them were a testament to that fact.

Lieutenant Will himself was on point leading his unit with First Platoon, running in a crouch with his rifle up and ready, as they made their way silently towards the end of the sewer, the Navigation Point on their HUDs showed that the company was almost at their rallying point, approximately a hundred meters away. Second Platoon had abandoned their vehicles in favor of going on foot and Third Platoon was the same case altogether.

Minutes later, a speck of white light shone from the end of the tunnel, and the troops of A Company sighed in relief as the torture of their noses were about to end. The light shone even brighter as it became clearer as they closed in at fifty meters . . . then forty meters . . . then thirty . . . and it soon became clear to the soldiers of the company that the exit was a sewer opening that lead to the running sewer canals of the city.

At twenty meters away, Will suddenly held up his left hand in a fist, signaling his company to halt in their tracks, in which they did as the men and women got into crouches and started scanning their surroundings with their weapons, or in the case of the Attack Dogs, sniffing. Then, the canines started to growl lowly, indicating that something or someone unexpected was near.

The soldiers tensed, and they readied their personal weapons. They were in the belly of the beast, the heart of the enemy's position. They were the triggermen of the most desperate and important battle of their lives. They all knew the price of failure . . .

Will remain calm and collected as read the report from his HUD linked up with the Land Warrior and was pleasantly surprised to see that the Russians have little to no units guarding the rear; as expected of their adversaries. Will smirked as he contacted his company frequency via laser-point-to-point as to maintain radio silence to keep the enemy from intercepting their transmissions. Although they were sure they wouldn't run into any kind of code breaking experts within their enemy's ranks, but it's better to be cautious, than regret it later on.

"A Company, this is Lieutenant Will, looks like we hit the jackpot boys and girls. The enemy has no idea we've penetrated this far behind their lines and there seems to be little or no resistance left by the Reds. You know what that means…" He said with a predatory grin which was mirrored by nearly everyone in the company as they realized what that statement implied.

Will looked back at them and spoke, "You've thought right ladies and gents. The enemy is over confident and we've got them right where we want them. Alright Alpha Company! We're going topside! Keep your eyes peeled and stay frosty!"

"Yes sir!" was the reply as A Company clambered out of the sewers and into the open, intent on making this endeavor count, and to save the lives of their fellow Allied soldiers.

* * *

John was looking at the tactical display on his command console which showed the transponders of the soldiers and units he had under his command in bright blue blips, and his attention was focused on a certain blip that emerged from the center of the city. It was tagged, 'A Company'

They were in. One of his aces had pulled through and were now deep behind enemy lines about to unleash Allied Hell upon the invaders, and he was about to take full advantage of that and secure the area for a more consolidated defense.

He tapped into his comm. unit, which connected him to his one-time mentor and close friend."Giles, this is John. My units are in position and at the ready, what's the situation on your end?" he asked. He waited a few moments before the image of said British Commander came through the command console.

"My units are in place and are standing by. My forward recon elements are probing their perimeter to disorient the Reds and test their defenses, won't be too long now until I send the rest of my forces in." The witty Briton said with a small grin.

"Negative Giles," came the reply of the overall commander of the Allied Forces in England, "Don't waste precious time and resources into one concentrated attack. Remember the Soviet Main Force is still out there, so conserve your forces."

John swore he could see the telltale signs of a frown marred on the charismatic Britons face, but it disappeared as soon as it merely grunted in response, his tone tense. "I hope you know what you're doing Johnny boy, you may be the overall commander for this Op, but remember my lessons, the Commies are not to be underestimated." He said seriously, earning a serious nod from the younger commander.

"I know that, and I remember it well old friend. But look at it this way, it's the other way round don't you think?" John said with a grin as he uploaded the satellite images and the HUD video cam images to the other man on the line. And soon, a similar grin appeared on the Briton's face.

"Oh, ho, ho, ho, now _that_ is why you're my favorite disciple!" Giles said with a laugh.

"Really?" John asked with an amused expression, "I thought I was your _only_ disciple?"

Giles laughed a good bit before becoming sober, his expression serious again. "Alright enough with the jokes young man, we've got a job to do." With that his image faded out of existence from the flat screen.

"Roger that . . ." John muttered. He checked his watch and showed _0758 hours_, and the Soviet Main Force according to his intelligence is due to arrive at _0900 hours_.

He turned to his command console and tapped a few keys on it. He then tuned to his battalion command frequency on his radio, "To all First Battalion elements, this is Colonel Reynolds. _Operation: Ride of the Red Menace_ is a go. I repeat the Op is a go."He received a chorus of acknowledgements from his units.

And sure enough, after a few minutes, the ground began to shake under the vibrations of distant explosions as the attack to retake the partially occupied city was launched.

John focused his attention on his view screen as he monitored the situation on the ground with blips and lines, which showed where his own troops were and that of the enemy. He gazed out of the armored window of the MCV, and over at the city, which dark plumes of smoke had started billowing . . .

* * *

"_The Op is a go!"_ Private Colt heard over the radio as he checked the operating mechanism on his AWP sniper rifle, all the while sending live targeting coordinates towards the back to the artillery crews via his HUD. To the right of him, his partner and observer was doing the same, and both were lying prone in ghillie suits made of leaves and other foliage under a bush. And just five hundred meters directly in front of them was a Soviet blocking force, numbering around twelve to fifteen people; a full squad, and they have no idea about the hell they would be in just a few short minutes. . .

He could already hear the distant rumblings of artillery rounds going off, as other spotters had already identified their targets. His heart was pumping, his adrenaline was filling his senses, and his sense of urgency started surfacing. But he calmed down somewhat when his partner, a man named Sergeant Howard, put a comforting hand on his shoulder while prone, as subtle as possible.

"Calm down son," the man said using his laser-point-to-point, "Don't let your instincts get the better of you. Breath and calm down."

Colt nodded. Steadying his breathing, he readjusted his sights to another blocking force just seven hundred meters away, directly behind the first. He immediately tagged them as targets using his HUD which was relayed to the rest of the battalion. He knew that other Pathfinder teams like his were doing the same thing all along the front, and their job was to eliminate high profile targets and also act as spotters for the artillery units.

And right now, whilst sending the telemetry data back to the rear, he set his sights on a regal looking soldier with multiple bars and chevrons . . . obviously the man had no idea about keeping a low profile in a battlefield. _Oh well_, Colt thought, _no use fretting over a man who is about to die._

"Sarge, I've got my eyes on some hotshot who doesn't know the meaning of humility. Check it out." Colt said to his superior, who raised an eyebrow in curiosity, although it was hidden by his ghillie suit and his facial woodland camouflage.

"Really now?" he asked, "Show me."

"Six hundred and fifty meters, eleven o'clock, thirty degrees elevation and ten degrees to the right, middle-aged man with brown hair about five foot ten; see him?"

Howard focused his sights on his binoculars, and sure enough a small smirk made its way to his face. "I see him, sit tight and keep an eye on him. I'm gonna contact the Commander, see what we could do."

With that, he tapped into his satellite radio, which was standard issue among sniper teams, and contacted the commander.

"Eagle-Six, this is Stiletto-One-Three, we've got eyes on a regal looking officer who looks like someone important. Please advise over." Howard called over the radio while keeping his voice barely audible, only enough for the radio to receive it.

"Copy that Stiletto-One-Three," came the reply of John over the radio, "Can you verify?"

"Roger, sending over the image now." Howard said as he sent the image of the officer to his commander, which he took whilst using the binoculars with the built in camera of his HUD. After a few seconds, the reply came.

"Stiletto-One-Three, this is Eagle-Six. Target has been verified as the local Soviet commander of the garrison force. We've marked him as a HVT, you are cleared to engage, suppressed weapons only." The commander ordered.

"Considered it done sir, Stiletto-One-Three, out." Howard said as he put away the radio and focused his attention on the officer.

The man was currently barking orders to his subordinates while holding a young man who looks to be a conscript at gunpoint with his pistol. Apparently the young cadet had forgotten to stow away his weapons properly and it almost killed several people, as Colt reported as he bore witness to the event. After a few more moments of barking out orders and lashing out at the conscript, with the young man begging for mercy, he pulled the trigger, the conscript's brain matter splattering all around him. The other soldiers looked stunned and horrified at the display and they immediately went about their duties, no doubt not wanting to be at the receiving end of their commander's wrath.

Howard snarled at the display of utter brutality, the Soviets have no respect for their soldier's lives and well-being. He was grateful that he was born in Indiana back in the US, or who knows what might happen if he was born in Russia.

He started communicating with his charge as he relayed targeting information to him. "Alright Colt, tango's marked for elimination." He turned a few knobs and pins on his binoculars as he called out the adjustments, "Adjust sights to forty degrees to the right, twenty degrees elevation, wind speed is at twenty knots in the direction of the North. Target is that head-popping bastard. Suppressed weapons only, fire when ready." He said in a cold and calm tone.

Colt quickly attached a suppressor to his rifle barrel and it fell into place with a small 'click'. Nicknamed 'Hawkeye' by his peers for his uncanny ability to snipe at anything the size of a _marble _from any range, he proved them right by bagging any Reds that appeared on his scope with one round, all between the eyes, on a recon mission gone bad back in Europe. Eventually the nickname stuck as he adjusted his aim and made the calculations in his head, taking into account all the tactical information given to him by Howard and adjusting accordingly, all the while keeping the officer within line of sight of his gun barrel.

Steadying his aim as he controlled his heart rate and breathing, Colt settled his crosshairs on the officer's hair, just above the temple. When everything was in place and he himself was ready, he depressed the trigger . . .

'_Swap'_

The hypervelocity, .308 Winchester round silently left the barrel straight and true, before angling downward due to the gravity. The gas operated AWP was already doing its job, rapidly cooling the gun as Colt pulled back the bolt, releasing the spent cartridge and inserting a new one. He pushed the bolt back into place as he took a look at his handiwork.

This all happened within a tenth of a second as the officer's head exploded in a starburst of crimson, head jerking backwards followed by him falling lifelessly to the ground in a growing pool of his own life fluid. The others around him quickly scrambled around in shock as they shouted out and tried to look for the shooter, with some of them shooting into the unknown with their rifles, attempting to hit their assailant or somehow suppressing him.

Colt smirked triumphantly, uncaring of the fact that he took a human life. "Right between the eyes . . ."

"And that's a kill." Howard finished for him.

Colt readjusted his scope's magnification knob as he smirked. "So, who's next?"

* * *

"Kingsby! Quit slacking off! We're commencing the attack!"

Private First Class Kingsby snapped back to reality after accidentally dozing off in his gunner's seat of the Multigunner when he heard the booming voice of his commanding officer. The blonde haired Seattle native blinked a couple of times before his heart started pumping. The attack has begun.

"Copy that!" he replied as he reached for the controls that activated the auto-loading mechanism of the Multigunner. The standard issue jack-of-all-trades Infantry Fighting Vehicle had a complement for a crew of three and a single, heavily armed passenger, and also carried the standard issue general purpose 100mm Phoenix missile pod. Other variants were either equipped with the Bofors 'Stalin's Piano', four barreled smoothbore shotgun cannon, which fires the same pellets that were fired by the standard Gummond-8 shotguns; only much, much more in number and larger to boot.

Originally designed as an anti-aircraft weapon, it underwent modifications during the war and was eventually fitted with the smoothbore cannon shotgun that fires four canister shots filled with pellets in rapid succession, tearing through both armor and flesh with ease, and it had proved its worth countless times on the field of battle.

The other variant was fitted with the newly issued, Sonic Ambience Modulator System, or SAMS, which directs a concentrated sonic pulse onto a target area so powerful that the sound waves themselves irritate the victim's inner ear and messes up their balance and stuns them as long as the SAMS is in place. This weapon has terrorized the battlefield with this ability as scores of enemy troops fell victim to it and were cut down by small arms fire from the escorting troops . . .

"Missiles ready!" he cried to his NCO, who was a dark-skinned man with black hair who's tag identified him as a Sergeant Mallaby. The man nodded as he punched in the coordinates into the Multigunner's targeting computer, which was fed directly from the targeting data supplied by the forward observers via the HUD. He nodded as he shouted.

"Open fire!"

"Fire one!" Kingsby shouted as he ducked into the protected compartment of his Multigunner and depressed the firing mechanism. As there is no better ways to protect him from the exhaust fumes of the missiles, the compartment will have to do. One by one the twelve missiles mounted at the rear of the Multigunner roared to life as they streaked towards their preprogrammed targets. The trail of superheated air and smoke leaped towards the Soviet positions and soon enough, explosions were heard as well as shaking earth.

Once they're away, Kingsby got out of the compartment and started the process again. Ten seconds later, the missile tubes were ready again.

"Missiles ready!"

"Fire!"

"Fire two!" Kingsby shouted as he fired again, along with the rest of Charlie Company as their missiles lanced away towards their respective targets, sewing death and destruction among the Soviet lines.

Not too far away in his command vehicle, Lieutenant Stanley watched as his company did the heavy pounding on the Russians. All three of his platoons have at least ten Multigunners as their mechanized detachment, as they were a heavy weapons company. Normally the buggy-like Infantry Fighting Vehicles weren't used as light artillery, but this situation proved otherwise as their 100mm missiles did an excellent job as they pounded the Russians to oblivion. The young officer knew that this was just a diversion, to keep the Russians occupied at the front while Alpha Company flanked them from the rear.

Stanley smirked. Even after leaving West Point and getting a _desk job _out of all things, he had to admit that John was as cunning as he was witty, a true testament to his prowess as an officer in the United States Army. He had heard the rumors and whispers of course, about how the genius outmaneuvered and outwitted his instructors and the best commanders the Academy can offer like they were wet behind their ears. At first Stanley was a bit skeptical as were most of the others in his age group, but he proved hopelessly wrong when John unveiled his latest attack plan.

Only one word can describe it: _out-fucking-rageous._

But at the same time it was well-thought out and accurate to the last detail. First, A Company would infiltrate the enemy lines, followed by probing attacks along the enemy perimeter and artillery barrages to keep the enemy preoccupied by the rest of the battalion. After catching the Russians in a pincer movement, they would then destroy them and consolidate their position in the city to prepare for the Main Force. Not a bad plan of attack indeed . . .

He narrowed his eyes as he gazed up into his HUD which showed him the latest reports from his units. With a few taps on his data pad, he keyed in his radio, "To all Charlie Company elements, this is Charlie-Actual, switch to fragmentation missiles; let's kick it up a notch. How copy, over"

Seconds later, a reply came through, _"Copy that LT, Charlie-One switching to frags."_

"_This is Charlie-Two," _came in another male voice, _"frag missiles armed and ready."_

"_This is Charlie-Three. Missiles primed and on the way." _chimed in a third female voice.

Stanley nodded. He turned his attention towards the sight of the outskirts of the besieged city. He mentally prayed for the safety of his company, the battalion and everyone else in this endeavor, and also that Alpha Company would get this First Phase over and done with. He spoke into his comm. link and started barking out orders to his company, determined to keep the Soviets occupied enough and keep their attention away from the _real _assault.

* * *

Lieutenant William James tapped a few keys on his data pad and highlighted the positions in which his company will simultaneously deploy around Brighton. It had been a quiet and uneventful twenty three minutes as Alpha Company made their way towards their predetermined rally point, which was coincidentally the city square;

Discounting the event when several Attack Dogs killed a Soviet soldier by chomping down at _all _of his vital spots; the poor man didn't even stand a chance.

The men and women of the outfit travelled like ghosts in the day, their crouched forms moving swiftly and silently down narrow alleys and roads. The only sounds that echoed throughout the deserted city was the distant sound of explosions and clattering small arms fire, and also the not so distant sounds of combat boots hitting the pavement as the fifty or so troops of Will's company moved steadily to the rally point.

As they moved, Will keyed in his radio as he called out orders, "Alright Alpha Company, listen up." Everyone remained silent as they listened while they were on the move. "Based on our latest surveillance sweeps, enemy positions have been spotted at these positions, coordinates are being uploaded..." he said this as he drew concerted circles around the supposed enemy position on his data pad, which was reflected on the company HUD, "Reds have established blocking positions here, here and here. And the battalion cannot break through their lines without acceptable losses. That's where we come in."

"The point being, sir?" a random trooper asked who was quickly silenced by the others.

The company commander chuckled. "The point being that we can do the most damage out of all the battalion units as we are trained for situations like this; it's our forte. So here's the plan," he directed movement arrows on the company HUD to show where the assigned troops will be headed. "First Platoon, take the group at Western approach. Second, take the one to the North while Third takes the Northeastern approach. Acknowledge." A chorus of affirmations later, he nodded.

He looked around and saw that they had reached their destination.

"Rally point Lima reached. Alpha Company spread out. Advance and Destroy!" A roar of approval was heard over the radio as the platoon leaders lead their respective troops to their positions. Will himself personally lead the assault on the Northern approach.

It was during this skirmish, that Alpha Company, Allied First Battalion, got their moniker from the Russians: The Blood Company . . .

* * *

**A/N: **

**And that's all from me this time viewers! Sorry for the long update time; O-level bullshit tests are a pain in the ass to do. Well, this is my third chapter on Forward Unto Victory. My skills are still a little dicey, so bear with me alright guys?**

**Also, I would like to thank all those reviewers that had reviewed all this time! Thank you so much guys! My hat's off to you!**

**Well, HeirOfRohan here, signing off . . . and wait for the next one!**


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